Assassin's Creed Drabbles

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deimos finds healing by helping on a small farm in sparta. 

DEIMOS DOESN'T BELONG here and deep down, he knows it. Given the things he's down he doubts he'll ever truly belong anywhere. Myrrine tells him this is his home —it does not feel like one. The people in Sparta are as cold and judging of him as Kosmos had been. Despite his prowess in battle, the Spartan army will not take him. In their eyes, he is no true Spartan. He'd never faced the trials of the agoge. No, he thinks my trials were much worse. Deimos struggles to find a place in a society that does not want him —does not trust him. There is no warmth in Sparta aside from the four stone walls that are supposed to be home.

The Eagle Bearer leaves Sparta to continue on her quest to eliminate the remaining members of the Cult but feels her little brother is not ready to join her on the Adrestia. He needs time to heal —to come to terms and move on from the past, else he will always be Deimos —not Alexios.

There's a small farm nestled on the outskirts of the city. He passes by it on morning runs. It's one of the better-looking homesteads in the countryside —well-tended and bountiful given its size. Sometimes Deimos sees the farm's keeper early in the fields, pulling weeds and trimming back certain crops to make room for new growth.

Drought has taken hold of the land, though, and he notices the trenches that once took water through the fields have gone dry. Despite the drought, the crops and flowers have not withered. He reaches the Eurotas and stops at the river's bank, kneeling to splash the cool water on his face.

Deimos hears a string of curses come from upstream. There's a woman —knee-deep in the river— chasing after a large basket now floating toward him. Deimos steps into the water and snatches the basket before it can go any farther. "Thank you, Alexios," she smiles, recognizing him from the agroa —he'd purchased nearly all her nectarine harvest at once. He nods and watches as she takes the basket and steps back into the river, sinking it into the water. With a great heave, she lifts it back onto the bank. This must be how she keeps the fields from withering he thinks.

"Let me," he offers, motioning toward the basket —it's woven so tightly nary a drop of water escapes. She's quick to object, insisting she doesn't need help. Deimos shakes his head and takes the filled basket anyway, following her on a worn trail cutting through the woods.

There's a clearing up ahead —a small house nestled in the center of three fields and a line of fruit trees. "You work this land alone?" He asks having never seen another in the fields.

The woman nods. "My pater left it to me." The Battle of Pylos had taken him from her —five long years have already passed since then, but she managed on her own having been taught well by her mother and father. Deimos feels her gaze settle upon him. "I could use an extra set of hands every now and then, though," she remarks offhandedly. His muscles were not from farming, but could easily be put to use. Despite himself, Deimos offers a small smile. This is the first place he feels welcome —wanted even.  

It becomes part of his routine to stop by the small farm every morning. He's there to help complete even the simplest of tasks. Deimos never asks to be paid to his work —he's only glad there is someone in Sparta other than his sister and mother who can look past the things he'd done.

Eventually, the season comes for planting síkyons. She shows him how to mound the dirt properly, how many seeds to plant, and how deep. Every time he covers a seed with dark soil, he buries a piece of his past too. The shift in his character is gradual but noticeable. Myrrine can tell her son is calmer and gentler, now. He regains his humanity bit-by-bit, something the Cult had stripped him of.

Midsummer comes and with it the harvest. He knows almost immediately what to do when the farmer places a scythe in his hands and cuts the wheat and barley while she threshes the grain by hand. It's a hard day's work, rewarded by a meal of roast lamb Myrrine prepares and brings to the farm.

After supper, Alexios leans back against the stone wall and thinks about the past year. The faintest of smiles tug at his lips as he listens to his mother and the kind farmer speak about the harvest. He bites into a ripe nectarine and finally feels he has found a place where he belongs —even if of all places it's on a small farm in the Spartan countryside.